Lot's Daughters

We remember two beautiful
bodies, bright beyond any light
we knew. They tried to hide it
beneath their heavy linen robes,

but we saw a glowing ankle,
flash of calf. We knew the truth,
tried to touch the cabled lengths
of their shining limbs. Small

moving suns: we orbited them
for days, afraid of burning.
Our brothers and lovers crowded
the streets with hungry mouths,

shouting for the angels, anxious
to part their lips against such
holy skin. We could not satisfy
them this time, too much breast

and hip, our cool dark curves
swelling alone, untouched.
We knew our men would never
want us again. We learned

jealousy then, the metallic taste
of losing, of being lost. Even
our father understood no one
would want us again. He took us

out of the city to the desert,
away from the unfulfilled crowds
and the angels still smoldering
behind us. We found our bodies

over again, each smooth rise and fall,
our own sweet scents. But ever after,
we dreamt of brightness, of being burnt.

Rachel Bunting is a born and bred South Jersey girl currently living between the Delaware River and the Pine Barrens. Her poems can be found in Wicked Alice, Apple Valley Review, US1 Worksheets and Shit Creek Review, among other places. She can mostly be described in verbs and nouns: eats sushi, gets acupuncture, likes hibiscus trees, writes poems. Her first collection of poems, Ripe Again, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. In 2007, two of her poems were nominated for Pushcart Prizes. Visit her online at rebpoetry.googlepages.com (rebpoetry@yahoo.com)

Boxcar Poetry Review - ISSN 1931-1761